


Coming Up From Behind

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Ocean's (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-22
Updated: 2006-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:46:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1642286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny/Rusty. The thing about Danny is, he gets shop talk and foreplay confused. Always has.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Up From Behind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tauna

 

 

"Well, if it isn't our little Bobby home from circus camp."

He wasn't expecting to find them just lounging on the screened-in porch, mid-afternoon, all whites and washed-out khakis. Rusty fumbles with the stubborn metal door, the one they still haven't found the time to fix after four months.

"Yeah, well. Turns out not _everybody_ loves a clown." He gives Danny the once over, takes in the scruff as well as the wardrobe. "The Big Indian says hi."

"Boys," Tess says, and already Rusty recognizes the familiar tightness in the corners of her mouth, like someone's twisting a pin there. Her eyes flicker up to meet his, and for a second he almost lets himself see sympathy in them.

\--

Rusty eats. It's just what he does. Some people knit sweaters.

Danny's place in Costa Rica means strong coffee, means gallo pinto in the morning and a whole damn metric ton of fresh bananas to stick in his mouth at any hour of the day.

Rusty eats and Danny idles, reads the American papers front to back. He likes the comics, laughs at the syndicated Far Side like a loon every time. Rusty considers informing him of his status as the last person on earth to discover it, but he thinks he'll just get Danny a desk calendar for his birthday instead.

Maybe a desk, too.

\--

It starts off slow this time. Could be the heat.

Rusty's more garish shirts lose their shape, sag in weird places when he's stubborn enough to keep wearing them. Humidity like this brings his IQ down to normal level, turns breathing into a task that requires half his attention, especially when Danny's hands find sweat-slick skin and dig in.

"Tess sure spends an awful lot of time in town."

"She's a woman of many interests."

Stubble scours Rusty's thighs, leaves red marks that sting and have him hissing through clenched teeth. The porch swing creaks when he leans back too far.

"One of those interests wouldn't happen to be a seductive cafe owner, would it?"

Danny sits back on his heels. His eyes twinkle. Actually twinkle. It's a trick Rusty's never seen duplicated.

"Why, you know one?"

"I might," Rusty says, trying out his most secretive grin as he finally reclines on the swing's wooden bench.

"Now, why would you go and say something like that?" Danny says, looming over him. "Infidelity is nothing to joke about."

Then he's actually peeling Rusty, his maroon polyester shirt clinging stubbornly to moist flesh.

Rusty refrains from comment. Kisses Danny, quick and sloppy, grunting as Danny's feet leave the ground and the porch swing trembles, unused to the weight of both their bodies.

"You. You're fresh off a job, aren't you?"

Rusty lets his silent grin answer for him. He reaches for Danny's belt only to find he isn't wearing one.

"I can smell it," Danny says, nipping at his neck, sniffing him like a dog. "All over you."

The thing about Danny is, he gets shop talk and foreplay confused. Always has.

\--

Beneath the excited hum of night insects, the house emits a very specific series of creaks and groans.

Rusty sighs, kicks his legs out past the edge of the small cot. Thirteen million, and he's sleeping on something that was probably put together with an allen key.

"Hey, Tess," he says into his saggy pillow.

"Hey."

"Lovely night."

"Isn't it."

He turns, trying to look like he just woke up, but she's not buying. She stands over him, all nine and a half feet of her, holding a bowl of that tamarind candy that makes his mouth all tingly. Rusty knows an offering when he sees it. He sits up and takes a piece, sucking in his cheeks against the tart flavour.

"No,"she says, her head cocked at an unusually stern angle.

"No?"

At first, he thinks he's being scolded for taking what was offered. But then she pulls up a seat, placing the bowl between them, balanced on the wide arm of the white deck chair. The way she crosses her legs is classic, elegant, even in faded purple yoga pants and fuzzy slippers. Her right ankle works in little circles while she summons the words.

"Whatever it is you're dangling in front of him," she says. "Don't."

Rusty's laughter is genuine, although her natural skill at innuendo might have something to do with it. He brushes grains of sugar from his undershirt and pops another mouthful of candy.

"If there's any dangling being done, I assure you it is happening entirely without my knowledge."

When Tess's face doesn't change, Rusty swallows too quickly, gritty sugar scratching his throat.

"Wait," he says, coughing. "You think he's after a score?"

Tess's lips press together until they lose their colour.

"Well? How big? Is it dangerous? High profile? I hope to hell it's at least _slightly_ challenging because man, I am bored stiffer than a two-stem cherry on prom night after my last gig. No offense."

Tess shrugs. Not much offends her.

\--

"Job?" Danny says. He's laughing that quiet little laugh of his, the one that always starts out harsh and ends as breath. "Only job I'm gunning for is town drunk. Although I might have to settle for village idiot."

"That's my line."

All of Danny's tells are perfectly in check. Rusty polishes off his second drink, watches for the tap of the ring finger to the table that says Danny's lying, but it never comes. Neither does the little scoop of the tongue, or that particular tilt of the head that only Rusty recognizes. They don't come during the third or fourth drink, either. Or during the walk home.

"My opinion of retirement remains unchanged," Rusty says, standing in front of the little house. It's cute. It's nothing like he would have imagined.

"Seeing as you're not the one who's retired, that shouldn't be a problem."

Rusty turns, mouth open mid-response, but Danny's already inside.

\--

"You should know, I'm doing recon for your wife."

It's only when Danny's lips slide completely off his throbbing cock that Rusty realizes this was perhaps an awkward time to bring up the topic.

But Danny just smiles. "Seductive cafe owneress?"

"You're sick, you know that?"

"I know."

"No, I mean really..."

"Oh, I know."

There's a sad kind of confession there along with the sardonic banter. Danny doesn't waste much time getting him off after that.

\--

The reason Rusty stays is, someone has to be around to play the underdog.

He's been on top for so long, he's forgotten how it feels to have the odds stacked against him. Which is peculiar.

Which is dangerous.

Between the two of them, Tess wins every time.

 


End file.
